


Prayers Unanswered

by fireweed15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Community: hc_bingo, M/M, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireweed15/pseuds/fireweed15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd been faithful from day one, but what did he do when his faith began to wane?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers Unanswered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 5 of the Hurt / Comfort Bingo on LiveJournal – Pnuemonia

_January 1927_

The apartment cost sixty dollars a month, and with Sam and Dean alone it was crowded—more so when Dean invited pianist Castiel Novak to move in with them. All the same, with the three of them in the apartment together, it was warm and almost pleasant. Now, with Sam out at work and Dean in the state he was in, it seemed cold and empty.   
  
Castiel ladled some weak broth into a bowl before taking it and a spoon into the bedroom he and Dean shared. The drawn curtains and still air made the room feel more like a mortuary than a bedroom, and it certainly didn't help that Dean was lying so still on the bed… Castiel pulled a rickety chair close to the bed and set the bowl and spoon on the bedside table and took up a damp rag from the washbasin. "Dean," he whispered, swiping the cloth over the other's forehead.  
  
Dean stirred at the sound of Castiel's voice, and after a little more encouragement, mostly in the form of the cloth patting away the sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes opened. With a concerted effort to get his eyes to focus properly, his gaze fell on Castiel's face, and he smiled; when he spoke, his voice was hoarse but filled with affection. "Cas…"   
  
Castiel offered Dean a warm but tired smile. "Hello, Dean." He reached over and readjusted the lay of blankets on Dean's chest. He didn't bother asking how he was feeling—that much was obvious.   
  
"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked.   
  
"At the Impala," Castiel answered, referring to the place where, despite the illegality of it all, all of them worked.   
  
Dean shook his head. "Sammy doesn't know how to tend bar," he announced, pushing back his blankets and trying to sit up.   
  
"No, Dean," the other scolded, planting his hands on Dean's shoulders and gently pushing him back down. "Sam's doing fine, and you're still not well enough to be up." Two weeks in bed would make anyone restless, he supposed, but he'd rather have Dean restless than dead.   
  
Dean started to grumble a complaint but was cut off by a sudden spasm of coughs. Castiel bit the inside of his cheek, unable to do anything but watch the coughs wrack Dean's body, almost doubling him over. The pain he was in was obvious, but the pain Castiel felt at seeing him, normally so vibrant and full of life and mischief, was almost impossible to bear.   
  
"Oh God, kill me now," Dean managed to gasp when the coughing finally subsided.   
  
"I'm sure he wouldn't do that," Castiel said softly, though a significant part of him was starting to doubt it, as he patted the cool cloth against Dean's forehead once more. "Are you hungry?"   
  
"No," Dean said honestly, "but I know you're going to feed me anyway."   
  
"You can't afford to get any weaker," Castiel reminded, laying the cloth aside and taking up the bowl of broth and the spoon. "Can you sit up?"   
  
"Yeah, lemme just…" With no small degree of effort, Dean rearranged himself to be sitting somewhat upright. "There…"   
  
"Here." Castiel offered him a spoonful of the broth, letting Dean sip from the spoon. "How does it taste?"   
  
"Like crap," Dean answered honestly.   
  
"We'll work you back up to full meals soon," Castiel promised, dipping the spoon back in the bowl.   
  
"I want a steak," Dean announced. "A steak and potatoes and pie as soon as I get out of this bed."   
  
"I'll see what I can do," Castiel promised, lifting the spoon once more and pointedly ignoring the fact that when Dean inhaled, he could hear something shuddering in his chest.   
  
"Hey…" Dean paused only to take the proffered sip of broth. "Why aren’t you at the Impala with Sammy?"   
  
"We thought it would be better—" Another careful spoonful of broth—"if one of us stayed here with you. Samuel is a better bartender than he is a piano player."   
  
"Band's gonna suck tonight," Dean noted, his eyebrows lifting slightly.   
  
"It's good to see your sense of humor is holding up," Castiel noted.   
  
"That's a statement of fact," the other replied. "You're the best piano player in the city."   
  
Castiel's face turned downward, and he hoped the dim light of the room concealed the flush of color that rushed to his cheeks. "Thank you, Dean. Coming from you… That means a lot."   
  
Their conversation ended there, and for several minutes, the only sounds in the room were Dean quietly drinking the broth offered to him, and his shuddering breaths. Eventually, he pushed away the spoon before lying back down again—he'd be awake and sitting upright for close to thirty minutes, and Castiel knew that was not only a record for him, but also taxing on the little energy he had. When he was settled back down again, Dean's face turned to Castiel's, and his expression was almost sad. "Goddamn, I wish I could kiss you right now."   
  
For a moment, Castiel wanted to agree with him—he truly did want to kiss Dean, and be kissed by him, but now… "Kiss me when you're well again," he said, setting the broth aside. "It will give you something to look forward to."   
  
"You got it," Dean promised, dragging his blankets up over his chest and closing his eyes. "…Hey Cas?"   
  
"Yes, Dean?" Castiel asked.   
  
"You still pray?"   
  
 _Did_  Castiel still pray? Technically, yes, but his prayers had taken such a unique shape—that Dean's trips to bring back "the goods" went smoothly, that there wasn't a raid on a night when the brothers needed money the most, that the Impala's landlords didn't decide to double cross them on day. He prayed, but when he was praying for the continued success of a dubiously legal business endeavor, did it really count as  _praying_? "Yes, Dean, I still pray."   
  
"Pray to whoever's in charge up there that I get over this soon, 'kay?"   
  
Castiel nodded slowly, even though Dean was already drifting off to sleep and didn't see it. "Of course, Dean." He didn't mention that he'd been praying for that for sometime, and was starting to worry that his prayers were going unheard.


End file.
